Prosopagnosia
by Phantom-of-Fantasy
Summary: Prosopagnosia: Better known as facial blindness. Logan and Derek are faced with the ultimate challenge after the horrors of Hell Night: helping Julian to remember who they are. The road may not be easy, but they're willing to go the distance for him.


**_A brand new Jogan fic by Phantom (lionphantom dot tumblr dot com)_**

****_Takes place right after Hell Night; a Dalton-based fic._

_Most characters belong to CP Coulter. __A few are random OCs of my own design._

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 1: Broken<strong>_

The rest of the evening had all passed by in a blur of color and sound and motion. One moment he was kneeling, holding Julian's limp body in his arms; the next they were both being loaded into an ambulance, the sirens blaring as they sped towards the hospital. That was a good sign wasn't it? That meant he was still...alive.

Logan withstood his own treatments rather calmly, still in shock over the whole situation. His burns were treated, his cuts stitched, tests were being run, he was given doses of oxygen- every and any thing he needed was provided, as hospital staff rushed about, tending to the rest of the boys that had come in after.

It was only the next morning that he finally woke, both from sleep and the sort of trance he'd been in. "Julian?" he asked his nurse immediately as she walked in to check his vitals. "Where is Julian? Is he alright? Can I see him?"

"Mr. Larson is still undergoing some treatment. He was rushed into surgery last night, but everything went well," the petite redhead reassured him. "We're waiting for him to wake while everything else heals up. You should be able to see him later today, I'll put in a word with the doctor for you, Mr. Wright," she said kindly.

"Thank you..." he muttered gratefully, laying back on the pillows, getting lost in his thoughts. He was too tired, too wrung out to fight for anything more at the moment. But he didn't need to.

A figure burst through the door. "Logan?" Derek called, racing to his bedside. "Oh god, you're okay..." His voice dropped to a much lower register. "You are okay, right?"

The singer glanced up at him calmly. "Yeah, they patched me up. What about you?"

"They did some MRIs and stuff, and I'm fine. Just worried about you and Jules. Is he...?"

"Alive. He had surgery last night, but I don't know anything more yet..." Logan blinked up at him tiredly. "...Derek, did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That he...that Julian's in love with me."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I...yeah. I'm sorry, Lo. But it wasn't my place to tell."

The blond sighed. "I know. It's okay, I just wish..."

"Yeah?"

"I wish it didn't come out this way." His hands curled into fists on the blanket. "If I ever see that Clavell kid again, I'm gonna-"

"Mr. Wright? Mr. Seigerson?" The redhead was back. "Mr. Larson actually woke up about an hour ago, I hadn't been informed yet. His mother thought you two might like to see him after she talked to him."

"Yes," Logan's answer was immediate.

She moved towards him, helping him off the bed and into the wheelchair she'd brought with her. "You shouldn't be walking yet, let alone leaving your bed, but I don't mind breaking protocol for a celebrity and his friends."

Derek rested a hand on the small of her back as she pushed the wheelchair out the door. "Well, thank you, miss...?"

"Fiona."

"Ah. Thank you, Fiona." Derek's charming smile grew as he continued to chat with the nurse, more at ease since knowing Julian was awake. Logan grimaced, listening to them flirt, while growing more anxious on his way down the hall.

Dolce was crying as she sat in a chair in the hallway. The hospital had a strict policy about allowing cameras inside, so luckily there was no paparazzi to take pictures of the scene she was making. Glancing up, tears still streaming down her cheeks, she saw Logan and Derek coming down the hallway. Using the handkerchief she'd been wringing in her hands, she wiped away her tears, her eye makeup still flawlessly in place.

"Boys-" she choked out, holding out her hands. Derek and Logan immediately reached out to squeeze them. They'd barely spent enough time around Dolce to be comfortable around her, but the situation at hand called for comfort, no matter what.

"Is he..." Logan trailed off, not really knowing what he wanted to ask. He craned his neck for a peek inside the room, but the door was firmly closed, the shades on the small window drawn.

Dolce shook her head, her shoulders shaking as she restrained her next wave of sobs. "Go in, please. I need a moment-"

Derek nodded to Fiona, taking hold of Logan's wheelchair and opening the door, before wheeling him inside the bright room.

The fluorescent lights were harsh on Julian's skin, showing off how pale and fragile he was. Deep, dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his cheekbones stood out more prominently than usual. He was beautiful in a skeletal way, but all Logan and Derek could think about were flashbacks to his days of smoking and hardly eating for that one damn despised role.

Julian's eyes flickered away from where he'd been looking out the window towards the door when it opened, red-rimmed pools of foggy brown that showed no flash of recognition, no spark when they entered the room.

Logan jumped as Derek's hand squeezed his shoulder, and they moved closer to the bed in silence.

"Who are you?" Julian's voice was unmistakeable, even with the slight scratchiness of smoke inhalation and days of disuse.

"Julian...you don't remember us?" Derek's voice cracked. No wonder Dolce had been crying. This was too much to bear, after all that had happened.

Julian gazed at them wordlessly for a moment, reaching up a hand to brush away singed oak brown hair from his confused gaze. "You sound familiar."

"Jules, it's us. Derek and Logan," the athlete whispered, pushing the wheelchair closer to the bed. "Your best friends."

"Derek?" Julian asked in confusion. "You're Derek?"

The other brunet reached for his hand. "Yes. Do you remember me now?"

"I think so."

"Julian?" Logan's broken whisper was the first sound he'd made since entering the room.

The actor turned to look at him, his brow furrowed. "Who are you?"

"That's Logan," Derek jumped in hurriedly.

Julian's eyes were still trained on Logan, caressing every feature of his face, taking in the tiniest details. "Logan..." he murmured. "Logan!"

"That's right," the blond said, reaching out and covering his hand, breaking into a shaky smile. "You're gonna be okay, Jules."

Julian's face broke into a radiant smile, before suddenly fading again. "Logan, I'm so sorry this happened. I had no idea Adam-" he broke off, suddenly choked up and looked away, squeezing his eyes shut against a sudden wave of tears.

"No, Julian. It's okay. It's all going to be okay," Logan said, his voice strained with unshed tears as well. He heard the door open behind them, and the actor opened his eyes again, his gaze watery as he took in the other people in the room.

He yanked his hand away from Logan as he looked down at the blond boy in the wheelchair again. "Julian, what-" Logan began, before the brunet on the bed cut him off.

"W-who are you?" Julian asked shakily, holding onto his own hand as if trying to wipe away the germs of the stranger in his room, looking at him in confusion. He glanced up at Derek as if to ask the same question, and the athlete couldn't stifle his sob of despair.

"Julian- It's me, Derek..."

"Mr. Seigerson? Mr. Wright?" A doctor had stood behind them for a few moments, waiting for the best moment to break in. "I'm Doctor Phaven. If you could please leave the room, we have a few tests to conduct on Mr. Larson here. I'll be with you in a moment, to explain everything..."

Logan cast one more devastated look at Julian, as Derek wheeled him out of the room then and collapsed in the plastic chair where Dolce had been sitting before. The doctor exited the room soon after, shutting the door behind him, taking a deep breath.

"What the hell is going on?" Derek demanded. Logan looked up, his expression blank.

"Mr. Larson suffered greatly after his jump from the building. We did all that we could in surgery, but there was some brain damage that couldn't be fixed..."

"So he's got amnesia?" the athlete croaked. "He doesn't know who we are?"

"Yes and no," Dr. Phaven said swiftly. "Julian has a form of amnesia, something called prosopagnosia. In laymen's terms, it means he doesn't recognize faces."

"He what?" Logan whispered, his green eyes glassy.

Doctor Phaven scratched at his beard nervously. "Prosopagnosia is also called facial blindness. Mr. Larson now has a recognition impairment, limited only to people's faces. Prosopagnosics often have difficulty recognizing family members, close friends...and even themselves, if looking in a mirror. They often use alternative routes to recognition, but these routes are not as effective as recognition via the face...

"Julian can be taught to rely on non-facial information such as hair, gait, clothing, voice, and other bodily information not relating to the face, but it will be a difficult road," the doctor continued. "He retains all of his memories, which is why he can still remember you, but even the faces in those memories are blurred, and he is unable to fully link the picture of your face to your name, or other information about you.

"I fear his career as an actor may be temporarily over, and his ability to enjoy other movies will be impaired by this as well, since he will be unable to track the identities of the characters. With your help, he can learn to work around..."

Logan's vision blurred as the doctor continued to speak to them, blocking out the sound of his voice. The blond covered his face with his hands, rocking forward in his wheelchair, trying to remember how to breathe.

Julian was _broken_. And it was all his fault.


End file.
